Page 97 of Scoring Destiny

And she undoubtedly hates me more.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Maya

I’m still reeling from my phone call with Cash when Alexa Humboldt’s name flashes on the screen of my phone. I am really not in the mood to deal with her right now but I can’t avoid this conversation forever.

“Hey, Alexa.”

“Hey, Maya. I’m checking in. I spoke to Shandy and she said you haven’t given her an answer yet.”

I pull in a breath and keep my voice level. “I’ve answered her multiple times; she just doesn’t want to hear it. The truth is, I don’t want to work with her. I’m sorry if that offends you, but that’s the truth.”

There’s a moment of silence before she says, “I see. May I ask why?”

Do I lie? Technically, Shandy has never done anything to me, but I’ve heard Cash’s stories and seen her in action on the set—why would I want to get into business with someone like her?

“She’s my boyfriend’s ex-wife, for starters.” She doesn’t need to know we broke up. That’s my business. “For another, literally no one in the industry likes her. Except maybe you. The whole crew in Atlanta was so relieved when her part was done, and that includes both the actual crew and the cast. And even if that other stuff wasn’t an issue, she wants people to immediately think of her when they see my clothes. Frankly, I want them to think of me.”

Whew. That was a lot.

Alexa’s quiet for a beat.

“You have a point. About a lot of things. She’s done me a couple of huge favors, so I thought maybe this would be a good way to kill two birds with one stone. But if you’d rather not, that’s okay too.”

“I’m sorry if I’m disappointing you.”

“You’re not. Honestly, I want to get her out of my hair too. I didn’t know you had a history of sorts, or I never would have hooked you up in the first place.”

“It’s all right. I really do appreciate you thinking of me. Serena Everhart is going to talk me up, and though she’s nowhere near as big as Shandy, the goal isn’t to become an overnight sensation.”

“Honey, you reached that goal the second you got that Oscar.”

“I was lucky.” The words tumble out because I’m feeling a little sorry for myself.

“Don’t ever say that!” Alexa’s voice is harsh. “Luck, hard work, a cast of angels—none of it matters. You got there. You take the win and never look back. You understand me? Imposters don’t get imposter syndrome.”

It’s like she read my mind.

And I’m incredibly grateful for her words of wisdom.

“Thank you,” I say. “I really appreciate you saying that. It’s been a hard few weeks.”

“Nothing worthwhile is ever easy. At least, that’s what we’ve been led to believe our whole lives.”

“Is it wrong that I’m really fucking tired of hard at the moment?”

She chuckles. “We all are sometimes. It’s normal. So, take a deep breath, go get drunk or lie on a beach or go on a shopping spree—whatever helps you relax—and then get right back on the wagon.”

“Would it be all right if I send you my revised designs when I get them?”

“Sure. I’m always around. And also, no one says I’m right. Maybe those designs are exactly what’s right—for you. Right now. There’s every possibility that I was wrong in my assessment. It wouldn’t be the first time. Follow your heart, Maya. Not mine.”

“I’ll, uh, keep that in mind.”

“Take care.”

She disconnects, and I sit there for a few minutes.